


Twisted

by stilljustbitten



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Andres being really patient, Drinking, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin being drunk, Self-Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28342659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilljustbitten/pseuds/stilljustbitten
Summary: “I’m not exactly easy being around.”Martín doesn’t want to keep talking, his mind tells him to stop, but the effect of the alcohol makes his mouth continue:“I knew he would leave, that it was just a matter of time. They all do, and I really can’t blame them. I’m completely fucked, Andrés. I’m not normal. When people get to know me, they realize that, and they leave.”Martín finds himself pinned to the wall, Andrés’ fingers gripping his shoulders firmly.“Martín, look at me.”He forces his eyes to look into Andrés’, and he already feels calmer.“You’re a fucking genius. You’re more brilliant than anyone I have ever met. They’re too stupid to understand that. But I get it, because you and I are alike.”akaMartín's boyfriend leaves him, and Andrés tries to cheer him up with some drinking.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	Twisted

“Well if I’m so fucking hard to stand, why don’t you just leave?” Martín shouts. The _“like everybody else does”_ gets stuck in his throat. 

Tomas doesn’t shout back at him, but answers calmly: 

“That would probably be the best.” 

The calmness in his voice just fuels Martín’s anger even more. He wants to shout, to get it all out, but he actually likes Tomas. So he just stands there, shaking, when Tomas grabs his coat and walks out the door without even looking at Martín.

“For fucks sake!” Martín shouts as soon as Tomas has shut the door. He takes the small lamp from his nightstand and flings it through the air through the room, where it smashes against the wall with a loud, satisfying sound. 

The noise seems to erase most of the anger inside him, leaving him with an empty feeling. He exhales and slumps down on his bed. 

It’s not like he expected anything else. It doesn’t come as a shock to him that Tomas left. He didn’t necessarily expect it to be this soon, but to be fair, he probably hasn’t been much fun lately. The planning has taken a lot of his time, both days and nights, so he has naturally spent a lot of time with Andrés. Which, apparently, Tomas didn’t like, no matter how many times Martín told him that nothing was going on between him and Andrés. 

Tomas wasn’t the first to tell him about his anger issues either, and he guesses his actions right now just proved him right. But then again, who wouldn’t get angry being backed into a corner like that? 

He can’t fight the feeling that he did this to himself. That he subconsciously did all this to make Tomas leave, because he knew all along that it was going to happen eventually.

The soft knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. 

“What?” he snarls.

“Are you alright?” Andrés’ voice asks through the door.

“Just fine,” Martín answers, his voice still angry.

“Can I come in?”

Martín rolls his eyes to himself, and answers: 

“Yeah, why not?”

It’s not like he has anything to hide from Andrés. He is used to seeing him like this, and unlike his boyfriends, Andrés hasn’t left yet.

The door opens slowly, and Andrés peeks inside, seemingly unsure if Martín’s invitation was real. When he steps in, his eyes dart to the mess on the floor from the broken lamp, and to the mark it left on the wall. He doesn’t raise an eyebrow but starts picking up the pieces of glass from the floor when he asks Martín:

“You had a fight?”

“Good guess.”

Andrés stops and looks at him.

“Are you alright?” 

Martín shrugs. “I guess. I don’t think he will be coming back, though.” He tries to ignore the feeling in his chest when he says it. He knows it will pass.

“I’m sorry.”

Martín shrugs again and stands up. 

“Fuck it. It’s not like you can blame him.”

Andrés raises an eyebrow. 

“What do you mean?”

Martín clenches his jaw.

“Never mind.”

Andrés seems to ponder for a moment, before he says:

“You need to go out and have some fun. Take a shower and get ready to leave.”

Then he picks up the last piece of glass from the lamp and leaves the room. 

Martín sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t really feel like going out, but he knows that it’s probably exactly what he needs. After all, it’s Andrés, and no one is able to lift his mood as he is. Maybe he will even find a guy who can momentarily fill the void he feels inside him right now. 

He showers quickly and dresses in the tightest black jeans he is able to find in his closet, then starts to look for a shirt, when Andrés barges in with two glasses in his hands. Andrés takes a quick look at Martín’s pants, raises one of his eyebrows, hands the drinks to Martín, and starts rummaging his closet. After a few seconds, he hands a black shirt to Martín.

“You want me to look like I’m attending a funeral?” Martín asks.

Andrés frowns.

“No, I want you to look good. This shirt goes very well with those— tight jeans of yours.”

Martín almost blushes and puts on the shirt. Andrés was right, it’s a perfect match. He can’t hide his smile when he turns around, takes a few dancing steps through the room, and grabs his drink.

“See?” Andrés says, a smile on his face too. 

“Yeah.” Martín takes a sip of his drink. “You were right, I look sexy as fuck. Nobody will be able to resist _this_.”

“Not a single soul,” Andrés replies, sliding his hand down Martín’s arm. 

When they arrive at the place Andrés chose for the night, Martín once again marvels at how well Andrés knows him. He hasn’t been here before, but as soon as he hears the music playing, a live band, he feels his mood getting better. Inside he sees a decent sized dance floor, the room is buzzing with talking and laughter and the atmosphere just feels _happy_. He looks at Andrés with a wide smile on his face. Andrés places a hand at the small of his back and guides him towards the bar. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Andrés asks when they’re standing at a table, with a good view over the whole room.

“Actually I would much rather just forget about it,” Martín answers, looking down at the shots Andrés bought for them. 

“Alright.” Andrés takes one of the glasses. “Let’s make sure you forget, then.”

They down a couple of shots and Martín enjoys the warmth spreading inside his body. It’s like the alcohol makes his body respond to the music, and shortly after he finds himself half-dancing at the table.

Andrés smirks at him.

“You should take your sexy moves to the dance floor, it’s such a shame to waste them here where nobody can see you.”

Martín laughs.

“Sexy, huh?” He makes a couple of exaggerated moves, winking at Andrés. “Want to join me?”

“Just go ahead, I’ll need at least one more drink before I’m able to move like you.”

Martín smiles all the way to the dance floor.

If there’s something sure to make Martín feel better, it’s seeing people look at him the way they do when he dances. He’s dancing alone, but he savors every look from the people around him, both men and women. His body is without a doubt the best thing about him, he knows how to move. His body doesn’t make people leave. If anything, it makes people stay longer than they should, than they want to, after discovering his personality. 

He catches Andrés’ eyes through the crowd, flashing him a huge smile while unbuttoning the top button on his shirt. He wonders how he managed to make Andrés stay in his life for so many years. He never looked at his body the way all those people do.

Suddenly a man appears in front of Martín. Luckily the music is loud enough that they don’t need to talk because Martín doesn’t feel like talking. The other man is a decent dancer, and when his hands are on Martín’s hips, he finds it easy to follow his lead. He sees it in his eyes, the way they sparkle, the way they look down at Martín’s body from time to time. Martín revels in the feeling of being wanted, even if it’s just for his body, and steps closer. The other man doesn’t waste the chance to rub his body against him, making Martín smirk.

When he feels a hand on the back of his neck, he turns around. 

“Andrés.”

“You look like you could use a cold drink,” Andrés says, and his hand stays firmly on Martín’s neck when they walk to their table.

Apparently, Andrés has made some friends, because their table is filled with colorful drinks, and people have gathered around it. Andrés introduces him to the people, but Martín still isn’t in the mood for talking, so he just grabs a drink, then one more, as he listens politely and tries to smile at the right time. 

He notices one woman getting touchy with Andrés, who seems to like the attention, returning her touches more often during their conversation. Martín grabs another drink, downing it too quickly, hoping it will help him not to pay attention. It doesn’t. He knows where this is going to end, and tonight that thought fills him with fear. Fear of being left alone. He knows that he isn’t able to compete with a woman, no matter how sexy he is dressed, and Andrés probably won’t look back even once before he disappears with her.

When he walks outside, the cold night air hits him, and he immediately feels the effect of the alcohol.

He leans against the wall, forcing himself to think of something else when Andrés appears in front of him.

“Are you okay?”

Martín realizes that his breathing is rapid and shallow, forcing himself to breathe slower, in and out through the nose. He nods. Andrés’ hand is on his shoulder. 

“I’m not exactly easy being around.”

Martín doesn’t want to keep talking, his mind tells him to stop, but the effect of the alcohol makes his mouth continue:

“I knew he would leave, that it was just a matter of time. They all do, and I really can’t blame them. I’m completely fucked, Andrés. I’m not normal. When people get to know me, they realize that, and they leave.”

Martín finds himself pinned to the wall, Andrés’ fingers gripping his shoulders firmly. 

“Martín, look at me.” 

He forces his eyes to look into Andrés’, and he already feels calmer.

“You’re a fucking genius. You’re more brilliant than anyone I have ever met. They’re too stupid to understand that. But I get it, because you and I are alike.”

“Then what happens when you leave me? Because you will eventually. You might as well do it now. Just— go inside, take that woman, the blonde one who touches you all the time, and leave.”

Andrés’ fingers dig into Martín’s shoulders, almost hurtful, making Martín wince and try to escape his grip. Andrés’ gaze is piercing.

“Martín, I am not going to leave you.”

Martín sees that Andrés is drunk, too, the way his eyes are slightly unfocused. 

“You’re forgetting one thing,” Andrés continues, leaning in so his mouth is right next to Martín’s ear. “I’m just as fucked as you. We need each other.”

A shiver goes through Martín’s body, and out of instinct, he grabs Andrés’ hips. 

Andrés steps back, looking at Martín’s face for what feels like a very long time, and says:

“Let’s go inside and dance. I want to see that beautiful smile on your face again.”

Martín follows him inside without another word, downing an unknown number of shots at their table before they head to the dance floor.

He makes a desperate attempt to dance all of his feelings away. Maybe it’s even an attempt to show Andrés what his body is capable of, making sure he will not leave. And even though Martín has trouble coordinating his movements because he’s drunk, Andrés does a fair amount of staring. 

“It works on you, too,” Martín grins.

“What are you talking about?” Andrés asks.

Martín laughs but doesn’t answer. When he almost stumbles over his own feet, Andrés steadies him with a hand on his waist, laughing softly.

“I don’t think you’re in a condition to dance right now, Martín. Maybe we should do something else.”

“And what exactly” — Martín grabs the collar of Andrés’ shirt — “are you suggesting we do?”

Before Andrés gets to answer, Martín kisses him. A wet, open-mouthed kiss, drunk and desperate. 

Martín feels the firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back.

“Martín.” 

The smile on Andrés’ lips is forced. Martín’s heart is racing.

“Shit. I’m sorry. Fuck. I thought—“ 

He swallows hard. 

“Martín,” Andrés repeats, his tone a little different this time. He grabs Martín’s arm when he tries to turn away. 

“Let go of me,” Martín almost shouts, his cheeks burning with shame. He jerks away and stumbles out of the bar. 

He walks around the corner where he leans with both hands against the wall, resting his forehead on the cold stone surface. His head is spinning and he feels ashamed. Stupid. How could he have misread all of Andrés’ signs so badly? How could he even think that Andrés wanted to kiss him? 

He doesn’t know how to get rid of the self-loathing that fills him, eating him from inside. _Way to prevent your best friend from leaving you_. If Andrés didn’t want to leave before, he surely does now. 

Letting out a broken sound, he smashes his fist repeatedly into the wall, until the pain finally cuts through his drunken haze and makes him _feel something_. People are staring, he knows, but he keeps his own eyes fixed on his bleeding knuckles, the blood trickling down the back of his hand, getting absorbed by the black fabric of his shirt. 

“We should do something about that,” Andrés says. Martín doesn’t know where he came from, but his fingers curl around Martín’s wrist. 

“Andrés, don’t. You’ll get my blood on your clothes.”

“Come here.”

Andrés almost drags him into the bathroom, holding his hands under the ice-cold water. It feels nice.

“I can take care of myself, just leave,” Martín mumbles. 

“Shut up.” Andrés turns off the water and grabs some towels, which he presses to Martín’s knuckles.

“I’m serious,” Martín tries again. “Go inside and find someone without a dick, someone who’s not as disgusting as me.” 

“Will you fucking stop?”

Andrés is getting angry, he grabs the collar of Martín’s shirt and looks into his eyes. Martín laughs. He doesn’t know why, nothing really matters anymore, but he laughs.

“Watch out, or I’m going to kiss you again.” 

Andrés loosens his grip, but he maintains eye contact. 

“If we’re gonna kiss, I don’t want you to be hammered and forget about it the next day.”

Martín blinks, confused. He feels like there’s something in Andrés’ words that he doesn’t quite get. He raises his hand and lets a finger run from Andrés’ lower lip and down his chin.

“Nothing could make me forget kissing you.”

Andrés sighs.

“Let’s get your drunk ass home.”

“‘Ndres I’m serious, please just— I can take care of myself.” 

Martín throws the paper towel away and stumbles out of the bathroom, directly into a table. Andrés catches him before he falls down, places an arm around him, and leads him outside, where he finds a cab. 

In the cab Martín is overwhelmed by tiredness, so he ends up with his head on Andrés’ lap, half asleep, muttering about how Andrés doesn’t have to take care of him, while Andrés strokes his hair.

“No, just let me sleep here,” Martín complains when Andrés tries to drag him out of the cab. He ends up getting out, Andrés nearly carrying him to his room. As soon as he gets inside, he collapses on the bed.

“Martín, would you _please_ help me get rid of your clothes?”

“Mmmh,” he answers, struggling to unbutton his jeans, but giving up. Andrés takes over, complaining about the tightness of his jeans when he struggles to pull them down. 

“‘Dresss.” Martín is fighting to keep his eyes open, reaching for Andrés in the dark. “I know I fucked up. Will you— will you please stay? Please. I know I told you to leave, but—” 

He sighs and lets his head fall back on the pillow, unable to fight sleep any longer.

Andrés caresses his cheek. 

“I’ll stay.”

Martín wakes up a couple of hours later, still dressed in his black shirt, but covered in a blanket. Andrés is asleep next to him, having actually undressed and put on a t-shirt. He would surely enjoy the sight if his head wasn’t pounding so much, the pain making him groan loudly and bury his face in a pillow. 

Andrés shifts next to him, asking in a sleepy voice:

“Are you alright?”

Martín lifts his head and looks at Andrés, the movement making everything spin.

“I’m—”

He stumbles out of the bed and to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet just in time. He hears Andrés groaning from the bed, and shortly after he feels his hand on his back.

When his stomach is completely empty, he wipes his mouth with the towel Andrés hands him. He doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, but closes the toilet lid and rests his head on it. He is ready to fall asleep right there, but Andrés pats his back.

“Come on, let’s go back to bed. You can’t sleep here.”

Martín groans in response. He feels just fine here, the toilet lid is nice and cool against his skin.

“For fucks sake, Martín.”

He feels Andrés’ arms around him, lifting him up from the cold floor. He sighs and does his best to support his body with his legs, and by some miracle, he actually ends up in the bed again. 

A moment later Andrés reappears with a glass of water and some painkillers. He manages, with a fair amount of support from Andrés, to sit up long enough to swallow the pills and drink the water. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles right before he drifts off to sleep again, cuddled up against Andrés’ warm body.

When he wakes up again, the sun is shining through the window, but he’s alone in the bed. His throat feels like sandpaper, so he is happy to see that the glass he used earlier has been filled with water once again. He sits up against the headboard and drinks it.

The awful taste in his mouth doesn’t go away, so he goes to the bathroom to quickly brush his teeth before getting back to bed. 

Andrés enters the room with two cups of coffee. He’s still only dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt, and Martín tries not to stare too much.

“How are you feeling today?”

Martín shrugs. 

“Alright, I guess. Just tired.”

Andrés hands him a cup.

“This will probably help,” he says and gets into bed again.

They’re silent for a while, just drinking their coffee, and Martín’s thoughts wander back to last night. 

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says quietly, looking at his cup. He wonders just how much he fucked up, but Andrés is here now, so maybe it’s not that bad.

“Don’t be. I already told you why.”

Martín looks at him. “Why what?”

“Why I didn’t kiss you back.” 

Martín’s heart beats a little faster, wondering if Andrés says what Martín thinks he’s saying. He needs to be sure.

“Tell me again.”

Andrés smiles softly back at him.

“I didn’t want you to be drunk. I wanted you to be sure that you really wanted it, and you didn’t do something you would end up regretting later.”

Shit, that’s exactly what he’s saying.

“I would never regret it. But maybe you would,” Martín says, looking down at his cup. 

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t.” 

Andrés places his cup on the nightstand and turns to Martín, resting his hand on the side of his neck and caressing the skin with his thumb. 

Martín reaches behind himself to put away his cup and turns to Andrés.

“Why did you never say anything?” he asks.

“Why didn’t you?” Andrés asks back, smiling. 

Their faces are so close, and Martín wants the moment to last forever, just as he wants to take the next step. It takes him a moment to gather the courage he had last night, and when he finally closes the distance between them, when his lips finally meet Andrés’, it feels like something that should have happened long ago. It doesn’t make sense, and he tries to stifle a chuckle, but Andrés pulls away, one eyebrow raised. 

“What?”

“Why didn’t we do this years ago?”

Andrés grins back at him, and Martín doesn’t await an answer before pushing him down to the bed.


End file.
